


Problem

by LiKan



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 14:44:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14022525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiKan/pseuds/LiKan
Summary: It is not entirely without precedent.





	Problem

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Problem](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/364605) by kikio. 
  * A translation of [Problem](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14022795) by [kikiokikio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikiokikio/pseuds/kikiokikio). 



> If T’Challa had already knew Erik from the very beginning.
> 
> So this is my first fic translation from Chinese to English... Hope you guys enjoy!

 

Erik picks him up, running his hand up T’Challa’s inner thigh.

 

“Erik,” T’Challa warns.

 

Zuri clears his throat, “This posture was meant as mating...”

 

“Enough, Zuri.” T’Challa has to interrupt, and Erik takes the opportunity to pat his soggy shorts.

 

 

****Three weeks ago.** **

 

Zuri was silent for a moment, “It is not, uh,” he paused, “It is not entirely without such precedent.”

 

T’Challa felt a drumming in his temples.

 

“Your Majesty, the ritual challenge was originally—”

 

“Zuri.”

 

“—dedicated to choose...”

 

“Don’t—”

 

“... The king’s partner.”

 

T’Challa closed his eyes, all the elders from four tribes were looking at him, the merchant tribe elder nodded in approval, for Zuri was telling the truth. T’Challa’s head ached when Erik smiling at Zuri, “Thanks, uncle James.”

 

Shuri pointed out that T’Challa could have been married with M’Baku, which did nothing to this conversation, and even made it worse because Erik was already asking who the fuck is M’Baku.

 

 T’Challa could not decide whether to ask his cousin to watch his tongue or have Shuri to shut up, he glared at W’Kabi with reproachful eyes.

 

“With the exact same ring, Your Majesty, and Ulysses·Klaue’s body. I have to bring him over.” W’Kabi remained calm, a small, meaningful smile curved his lips, only Bast knew what Erik had said to him. W’Kabi glanced at his lover.

 

No, it was worse, Okoye knew.

 

“It could take weeks to prepare for the ritual,” T’Challa said, his voice was as weak as he was knocked down by the panther suit at the lab, “Take him out, get him a room.”

 

Erik kept his body unmoved.

 

“T’Challa,” Killmonger, or N’Jadaka, held out his hand, palms up, Ayo wielded her spear to stop him symbolically. That’s great, T’Challa wondered how many people already knew it.

 

“My ring,” Erik drawled.

 

Dully T’Challa realized that he still twined his fingers in Erik’s necklace, he tossed Erik the ring as if it had not burnt his hand.

 

Shuri tapped her fingers with her arms crossed.

 

She was the storm of T’Challa.

 

“I was the last one to know?” She stared at him.

 

“Actually you were the first to know,” He pointed out, “sort of.”

 

Shuri frowned, pursing her lips in disbelief. T’Challa counted to ten before Shuri opening her eyes wide in five seconds.

 

“ _That_ war dog?” She flipped him off, “Your. Personal. War. Dog?”

 

 

****Three years ago.** **

 

T’Challa woke up.

 

His sheets had been pulled off a little, and the mattress sagged in at the corner.

 

“Please take off your shoes,” T’Challa said.

 

The man muttered in response, crawled under the covers with a feline grace. He was close enough, T’Challa could felt the warmth of his breath, and the touch of his stubble against T’Challa’s shoulder.

 

Without undressing, he smelt like metal.

 

T’Challa moved his head with his eyes closed, sharing his pillow with this man. Erik put his arm around his waist, palms calloused and dry. His breath brushed through the T'Challa's neck, limbs stretching out fully.

 

T’Challa heard him grunted a chuckle.

 

They moved closer, almost fell asleep. A Kimoyo bead was tucked back into T’Challa’s bracelet.

 

"It's all there," Erik grumbled.

 

 

****Five years ago.** **

 

T’Challa cocked one eyebrow.

 

The jaguar ran round him, rubbing against his calf. T’Challa crouched down to stroke it’s neck with his right hand.

 

“Preyy likes you,” Erik sat on the carpet and beckoned his pet, the latter was too busy enjoying the caress to bother with him.

 

“Nice cat you got here.” T’Challa concluded.

 

 

****Seven years ago.** **

 

The day before T'Challa left England, he came across a schoolmate.

 

The old pub has been renovated, but the bartender hasn’t change. They used to come here and have a drink.

 

The schoolmate was British born and bred, who has taken T’Challa through pub culture when T'Challa first came to Oxford.

 

The British raised his glass with a smile and a thin band on his left ring finger.

 

"Seriously, I can’t bear it no longer," He suddenly said.

 

T'Challa gave him an inquiring look. His cup was empty.

 

"We just sat down for less than five minutes."

 

"Four and a half."

 

"The boy is looking at you," The British tipped his chin to the said boy. Must felt quite uncomfortable, he said with a hint of tease, winking at T’Challa, "he’s been looking at you this whole time."

 

T'Challa turned to look back.

 

The young man was wrapped in a black jumpsuit, sitting at the last table by the door alone. He wore glasses, that’s new for T’Challa.

 

"Interested?" The British asked.

 

He shook his head, and the second drink was pushed towards him.

 

"You’re not going?"

 

T'Challa shook his head again, didn’t even lift his hand.

 

But the young man stood up, making his way straight to T’Challa.

 

The British burst into laughter.

 

 

****Nine years ago.** **

 

He sat on T’Challa’s windowstill.

 

"I thought you were supposed to be in Afghanistan."

 

"I just got back last week."

 

"When are you gonna learn to use the door?"

 

"Next time?"

 

 

****Eleven years ago.** **

 

He vanished in the crowd with a traveling bag on his back and a head of dreadlocks.

 

T’Challa spotted him at once.

 

Erik walked up to him, he was as tall as T’Challa now. He opened his arms without a word, T’Challa hugged his brother.

 

He smelt like desert.

 

T’Challa clapped him on the back, then separated.

 

Erik smiled a big smile, his eyes were bright and shining.

 

****

****Thirteen years ago.** **

 

The GPS on that Kimoyo bead was activated.

 

 

****Sixteen years ago.** **

 

“Shuri is rather clever,” T’Challa said, “She’s only three, but she’s a real genius.”

 

Erik removed his soft-boiled egg from the pan, the bread was fresh baked, but he just ran out of bacon, he cut some lettuce and made himself a sandwich.

 

“Erik?”

 

“Huh?” He answered absently, with mobile phone clamped to his ear, squeezing more mayonnaise on top of the bread. “I’m listening, Shuri’s our little prodigy, yeah and then?”

 

The other end of the phone was silent, then there was T’Challa’s chuckle, “I know you are our little prodigy too.”

 

What the hell is he laughing at?

 

Erik’s finger slipped and the sandwich dropped on the floor.

 

 

****Nineteen years ago.** **

 

California, Oakland.

 

Erik already knew he would score before shooting.

 

A clear shot, right into the net, or to be more precise, the basket.

 

“Dumb luck,” Boy on the other teem booed him.

 

The ball hit on the floor and bounced once, before it was caught by another pair of hands. Nobody noticed his entry, he just held the ball and stood off the side oh the court. He topped Erik by half a head, was about the same height as the biggest boy here.

 

“... Well, hello?” The new boy said, he wore a jacket and jeans, and a pair of odd sandals. But it was a good kind of odd, Erik was quite feeling for it.

 

They were silent for two long seconds before the boy throwing that ball back to Erik shyly.

 

Erik sniffed, passing the ball to another teammate, “We’re short for one more,” He asked, “You coming?”

 

 

****Eighteen years ago.** **

 

They sat on the rooftop side by side, the sun was half bending in the west.

 

“You should watch the sunset in Wakanda,” T’Challa was wearing one of Erik’s hoodie because he had no change of linen, he should have left yesterday, but he decided to stay here for one more day. Both Erik and he wanted it, and T’Chaka and N’Jobe could not refuse those pleading eyes.

 

“Baba said it was the most beautiful view he’d ever seen,” Erik dragged his heels of his sneakers against the brick, “He promised that he’ll show me one day.” His eyes were in various shades of brown by the pale rays of the sun.

 

T’Challa’s head tilted in his direction, his cousin scratched his face in embarrassment, he smiled.

 

“Yes, Wakanda is the most beautiful place,” T’Challa put a hand on his shoulder, and repeated it again in Wakandan, “ _There is no place like home_.”

 

“What?”

 

“It’s Wakandan,” He said, “Do you want to learn it? I can bring some books to you next time.”

 

A smile curled Erik’s lips, T’Challa guessed that’s a yes, he smiled broadly.

 

“Baba said you’ll be home soon,” T’Challa stood up and lent Erik a hand, “In two, maybe three years, it’ll be soon.”

 

Erik dusted himself down, “Then I guess I’d better start learning now, right?”

 

 

****Fifteen years ago** **

 

The body was mutilated beyond recognition.

 

N’Jobu’s work has already been done, he was supposed to return to Wakanda by the end of this year.

 

T’Challa held Erik tightly by the hand, his hand and fingertips were as cold as ice.

 

“I’m not going with you.” He said.

 

T’Challa’s heart sank, with a heavily breath, “You’re not coming back to Wakanda,” He gripped tighter, Erik returned the pressure slowly, easing his pain little by little.

 

Erik shook his head.

 

“I can’t leave,” He said, “I’m not ready for home yet.”

 

N’Jobu laid in his coffin.

 

James, or Zuri, arranged his burial, and after that T’Chaka will bring his brother home.

 

T’Challa handed him a metallic ball.

 

Erik knew what that is, he didn’t take it.

 

“I saved all Wakanda’s document literature in it,” T’Challa said, still holding the Kimoyo bead, “Other functionality can only be activated by the owner, perhaps, when you please. Just take it now. Take it, Erik.”

 

 

****Twelve years ago.** **

****

Erik’s hologram popped out.

 

There’s something about his face was familiar to T’Challa.

 

“Wanna meet?” His cousin rubbed his nose.

 

How could T’Challa say no.

 

****Ten years ago.** **

 

“I thought, nah, I _can actually_ be in helping you ease your burdens.” Erik offered.

 

T’Challa turned around, hands behind his back, raising his eyebrow, “You sure?”

 

“I smell uncertainty here,”

 

“Erik,” T’Challa decided to play along and spoke with distrust, “You want to work for me?”

 

“Since I have nothing better to do, thought I can help you out a little.” Erik emphasized, slipped off of terrace.

 

 

****Eight years ago.** **

 

Erik took a cold shower, leaving a trail of wet footprint all the way to the bed, the sheets felt a bit damp.

 

The ring and the metallic ball he wore hanging on a silver chain were dripping wet too.

 

He had thirty minutes tops before T’Challa came back.

 

 

****Six years ago.** **

 

T'Challa stopped Erik before he leaved, grabbing his fingers tight, his hands, like Erik’s, have the same calluses and wounds.

 

T’Challa rolled back his cuffs.

 

Scars.

 

Old and new.

 

Erik gave him a hard look, they haven’t talked about it yet.

 

T’Challa sighed, which was often, he didn’t say anything but turned down his sleeves and squeezed his arm slightly.

 

 

****Four years ago.** **

 

Erik threw him a pair of boxing gloves, “Try it on?”

 

“Do we really need this?” T’Challa asked. Erik lost his gloves as well. He rolled up his sleeves, there was no more new scars.

 

T’Challa noticed that, he relaxed a little, bedding for preparation.

 

For the next level.

 

“If I win,” he said unhurriedly, “No more shoes on bed.”

 

 

****Two years ago.** **

 

“I have my own special sources.”

 

Shuri squinted with interest, “Anonymous linkman? Private spy?”

 

T’Challa threw up his hands, “You can think what you want,”

 

“Private spy it is,” Shuri said, “Who gave you that program in your beads?”

 

“Private, Shuri, private.”

 

“Even better than Nakia?”

 

“ _Shuri_ ,”

 

Shuri giggled, she did a brisk twirl in the room, “I know you are just friends, brother,” She shifted her attention, “But you’ve been celibate for so long, we have to take a guess.”

 

 

****A year ago.** **

 

Nakia knew.

 

“I believed that you two are just watching sunset on the hillside, yeah, this won’t hold a water,” She concluded, “But at least it’s pretty sweet.”

 

 

****Six months ago.** **

 

Okoye knew.

 

Erik just finished using the shower, he didn’t even get a towel, luckily T’Challa was wearing a rob.

 

 

****Three months ago.** **

 

After the funeral, his father was taken back to home.

 

T’Challa stood on the corridor, he walked out, Erik was right outside the door, fatigued and weary.

 

They hugged.

 

“Erik,”

 

“Hey, T’Challa,” He responded.

 

 

****Eleven weeks ago.** **

 

He left a pile of files on his desk, and the windor ajar.

 

T’Challa turned the first page.

 

It was Helmut·Zemo’s face on it.

 

 

****Seven weeks ago.** **

 

“You sure don’t want to go back with me?”

 

“I’ll catch up.”

 

Let there be tension, and extreme dramatically.

 

 

****Four weeks ago.** **

 

Klaue slipped through T’Challa’s hand, but he brought back a wounded CIA agent.

 

Nakia suggested that leave the mission wrap-up to Erik, T’Challa dug the trap himself and she handed the king a shovel.

 

Unfortunately, agent Ross with his newly recovered spine witnessed a goodbye kiss.

 

He knew Erik, in a bad way apparently, proving that Erik was quite notorious.

 

“Tell me I was wrong,” He said, “This is not Wakanda, I’m in Kansas, and that’s not Killmonger.”

 

Okoye had to broke his hopes.

 

 

****Three weeks ago.** **

 

T’Challa asked Okoye to stay after the meeting.

 

“I have the consent of Mother Queen,” General said simply, as if it was enough to make him shut up.

 

It was indeed.

 

Shit.

 

T’Challa turned to see Shuri sitting on his throne.

 

“I was the last one to know?” She shouted angrily.

 

She was the first to know, but she didn’t think it through.

 

 

****Two weeks ago.** **

 

“Graduated Annapolis aged nineteen, MIT for grad school. Joined the SEALs and went straight to Afghanistan, joined a J-SOC ghost unit.” Shuri said, “Pretty damn good resume, brother, I don’t think he’ll lose to you.”

 

“Really?”

 

 

****A week ago.** **

 

“I think he’s good,” Shuri declared.

 

T’Challa eyed her with amusement, “Becasue he will flip off with you?”

 

 

****Ten minutes ago.** **

 

“Don't freeze.”

 

“I never freeze.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm done. Yeah this is definitely the last time I translate c to e.


End file.
